


Screaming

by Mortefere (aldamita)



Series: Mor Oneshots [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:52:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldamita/pseuds/Mortefere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things you do for silence aren't only your burden to bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Screaming

You start a fight just because you know you can. The world screams outside the windows and it bears down on you with all the weight it has to throw around and you _just can’t_ _breathe_. So you scream. You tear at the world with blood crusting under your nails and teeth snapping only to catch your tongue, the inside of your cheek. You spit the blood out and _snarl_.  
  
You started this fight, yes. But the world _deserved_ it. It choked you with its eventualities and predictabilities and your lungs screamed and you screamed and the world screamed in unison for something, everything. Retribution, revenge, revolution; call it _bloody justice_.  
  
And there really is an emphasis on the ‘ _bloody’_ part, because it’s everywhere. Skin, hair, teeth, hands, clothes, floor— It’s easier, and quicker, to list the places it’s not. It doesn’t bother you; you’re still screaming, regardless. Your teeth gnash and lips curl and everything is so visceral that it’s hard to imagine you’re a creature capable of higher thought.  
  
Not that it matters; there’s no higher thought required in the way your arms lash out, elbows bending and twisting impossibly, the way your fingers tear into flesh to freshen and press the crusted blood deeper into nail beds until they _itch_ with malignance. You’re a snapping _beast_. A horror film brought to life. If the world wanted intelligence and sensible thought then it would have given you more to silence the noise in your veins. But it didn’t, and that was a mistake.  
  
You are a _monster_. Even by your own standards, which, admittedly, says a lot. And you just keep _screaming_. You don’t know why by this point. Your throat is raw, and you aren’t even certain that words come out through the noise. Your body is a dead weight. Your arms are sagging. Haze seeps like fingers of fog into your brain and your voice crackles and rasps.  
  
You stop. You breathe. You feel your heart beat. There is silence. You feel hollow. Blood pools and clots and light dances on the slick surface and you feel nothing. Blissful nothing. For a moment, it’s okay. Everything is okay. You’re cut and bruised and _it’s okay_. The world has righted itself for just this moment caught and suspended in time.  
  
"A’ight, now?"  
  
The voice disturbs your silence, thick and garbled, but you aren’t angry. Your head moves with a twitch, eyes on autopilot as they track the sound through air to its source. Your teeth grind slowly in circles as you process. Bites, scratches, scars, wounds, blood, blonde hair, strong jaw, steel eyes, weariness. You read a million details from the figure propped haphazardly against the wall. You hear the faded echo of screams.  
  
"I’ll get the kit."  
  
A voice mumbles in return. It sounds utterly ruined, but you still recognize it as your own. You step around the pools and spatters of blood needlessly on your way to the loo. Your feet are already stained red but you don’t have the capacity to deal with more touching your skin right now. Not right now.  
  
You started this fight. ~~_The world deserved it._~~ You did it because you can. ~~_Just not **your** world._~~ And you are a **monster.**


End file.
